Creative Hiccups

For I cannot stand. I can run.I can put up pictures of Christmas in Spring! Its called sexed! Get with the program !

For purple is gay! I will love it! Because it is sexed!

For we act like fools! Because this picture makes me laugh and cry at the same time!

For passion comes from the dust off my thinking caps! Because sometimes I hate with a passion. Because I love to hate!

(I am a hypocrite)

For Loosing hope is easy. Because I am all grown up!

For I love feeling warm and fuzzy inside! For I love being in love and making people fall in love!

Loving the Masala

I found my old diary today, reading it made me laugh so hard: Four years ago I hid in black clothes and I was smitten by the idea of being alone, dark and depressed. It all seemed so beautiful, poetic and arty. I spent days sitting by myself penning down morbid and painful poetry about heartaches and death. All of that I believed was a portal into the emptiness of the soul. Today, I laugh at the poetry, I laugh at what was and I cannot believe that I wrote things that I can’t seem to recognize anymore. I guess we all go through that stupid phase in life when we want to seem cooler than the rest just by pretending to have some deep insight to the world. I used to read works of philosophers from around the world in hope that I would have the meaning of it all. I can hardly recognize that person anymore. Those days I hated Bollywood movies and I thought they were movies created just for the masses; masses of idiots that is. I would sit alone in my school’s art studio drawing pictures in dark blue and black, while listening to Radiohead on loop. I thought being with people or socializing was overrated and I preferred to sit with my own demoralized, dispirited self. Now I can only look back and laugh as here I sit, in a white shirt, blue jeans and white sneakers with pink lines, wondering how to spread love and happiness. I wonder what my past would have thought of my future. I know I would have raised an eyebrow at this optimistic, unusual someone who bakes cupcakes for random strangers on the street, all in the name of love. I used to be spiteful and rude, I have no idea how my character did a three sixty on me. I am addicted to Bollywood drama and love stories oozing with romance deep-fried in a pan of sticky-gooey corniness. I listen to love songs trying to see my picture in names that pop up in the lyrics… Ramona, Sicilia, the girl so fair, darling, baby she, her and you. Anything to keep the love flowing. I have tears of joy when I see happy endings and I cream over the thoughts of the heroine getting her first kiss. Oh so much magic! I still love Radiohead but it feels different now. I listen to a man singing about his neighbor telling him that a dog just died and it was slaughtered at night and I trust the mid line in the chorus that asks you to look at happier things or something like it. At night I dream of palatial Bollywood set, the kind with Abhishek Bachan or Shahrukh is doing some jatak-matak dance step with some hazaar other people. I’d dream of me stealing a hug behind a shaking flower or a large banyan tree while remembering tongue twisting lyrics and thinking of the next dance routine that would follow the hug. I do remember that I wasn’t all that mean back then, I was really sweet at times but when being sweet didn’t work out I just remained sour. Now well I notice how when sweet doesn’t work I bake cupcakes or tarts to solve the problem. What disgusts me is that sometimes I sound like a Betty Crocker of love. I used to enjoy watching dark movies with deeper meanings, now I love jingling bangles, old school love stories that make me feel weak in the heart and buckle at my knees. I think you get the picture, it just feels strange though because I have no idea

Before!

after!!

A travel log

I feel awful about whats going on in Mumbai… I feel numb, lost and very afraid. I cried alot…. as I don’t know how to deal with the fear sometimes. We could have been there… in their place.. in their lives… Its hard to imagine how painful all of this is for those who lost their family and friends. I am sick to my stomach by the evils of today’s world. I can’t understand whats going on… I don’t know how long we can all pretend to be perfectly fine in this crazy world. I have no idea how I can process all these thoughts. I tried ignoring what happened, but I knew it won’t go away. Where are we headed?!

In an effort to bring back some sanity…. I just want to shift my attention to something else for a few minutes. I know I can’t hide in memories… But I just want to relive the happier times …of my trip to the small towns and villages of Rajasthan… where I had no idea what the date was… or which day of the week I was living… I was with people who expressed love…. and hope…. Coming back to a big city…. Back to “Big City Problems,” makes me think…. why do people emphasize on a need to “help” smaller communities? They seem much more happier and more content, in comparison to the chaos I have come back to!!

I hope and pray that we see a brighter tomorrow.

Cocoa!!!!!!

Today was fabulous! I baked 2 cakes and spent my evening making small, useless flowers so that the cakes would look pretty. Well they look my granny’s pearl necklaces, but what the heck, they taste nice. I ate the crumbs… It was easy to decipher that they were quite nice. Anyway, better start college work now. Ugh! The misery.

The usual ramblings

I burnt my fingers today, silly little accident. I held my breath as usual and tears rolled down my cheeks, but I’m okay now. I want a dog, I had one, but sadly I had to go. I want one so bad, so bad that I visited a site that gave me a test. The test would decide which dog would suite me best. The battery of questions included a few nonsensical questions. Questions that made me wonder if I was talking one of those dumb, comso quizzes. You know the kind that tell you that you are a looser at relationships (you don’t have a boyfriend, your guy friends think you’re just as good as any other sweating, movie buff, guy friend they have..you really don’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out that you suck at relationships!) … but they blame it on the fact that you’re not wearing a Chanel dress or  those ‘Christmasy bauble’ like earrings that will attract his attention. Obviously it will attract his attention, you look like a human Christmas tree. He wouldn’t see the huge ass Dolce and Gabbana logo on it… He would be running away.. then again would it make a difference if he saw the stupidly large logo. But anyway, I don’t want to digress, loves. Ya, the god darn quiz, well questions like am I a lazy woman, who hates cooking, yada yada. After answering them, I wondered if small Paris Hilton dogs, for who you buy pink totes and trot around with them in it. Well thats what I got. Hairy, hairless, ugly, rat looking, creepy little things that would probably get lost in my large backpack. How very boring! I wanted someone majestic, loyal, friendly and who could offer to clean the dishes with his/her tongue and I got painted nails, Fifi and diamond collar, Coco. Obviously I had to cheat! I went back tweaked my answers and got what I wanted, a great dane and a lab retriever ! But I didn’t sleep too well that night….. Am I a Coco, Foofoo, Lulu kind of person!? I think I am going to pass out!

Hide and sliiiiight

I worked on something for myself for once. I was sick of conducting myself… Holding on to my feelings and walking through college projects.. My mom hated the cellphone. She asked me why? I said it was important. I do not know why. Why is the lady holding a cellphone in her hand and why are there lotuses on the side? I have no idea.. I thought it looked happy. I hate answering questions that ask for reasons. Does everything need to have a reason? I like things that are loose ended… where you fill in the blanks with random phrases such as Binky, the polar bear or Jojo is bad for you!

Looking back at old paintings and doodles … I realised that most of my work has no real meaning or reason. It just shapes up to look the way they do. Happy and happily twisted! Oh joy!

Older work…….

Bad teachers and personal conflicts

Mr.Hegde is just another sexually frustrated man. My first memories of the term “sexual frustration” came when I was in the eight grade. An über cool girl in class who practically got caught for everything from copying in tests to wearing short uniforms, introduced a class full of bleary eyed girls to the term. We had a rough week, a teacher who told me she would tighten my braces so that I would stop talking, just because I asked the girl next to me for an eraser. The teacher was awkward, tall but not lean, boring but not in the amusing sort of way. She was like a mouth full of pasty white sauce that had no salt and no pepper. Well, the hot, catholic school girl, during lunch, held our attention by loudly ( a little too loudly) proclaiming that our pasty whit sauce teacher was sexually frustrated. We gaped, and giggled, blushed and peeled into laughter.

A few years later, every teacher who was boring, depressed, lonely and pissy was sexually frustrated. I threw the term around and it was an all time favorite joke. Sexual frustration was the reason I failed my history test in the twelfth grade, at least thats what I believed to be the truth. I mean the fact was that I loved history, maybe if someone wooed her and got her drunk… and some more, maybe I would have passed the test.

Today, everyone in my life who is cranky, talks in a squeaky voice, a gets drunk alone on a Saturday night is just frustrated… sexually. The term is bounced off everyone, its still funny and comes out when I am really angry. Its not like any of us have an active sex life, most of us don’t have one at all, but we like the term, its silly, slapstick and oh so demeaning.

Rajesh was a hot guy. But his squeaky voice gave it away, he was frustrated too… sexually

Jokes on the dark front

I can’t paint inside the lines anymore.

Hideous is a life without a life. I am not dousing my words in self pity or recreating the truth to make anything sound pitiful but with a 95% cut off for attendance, I don’t think its easy to see past the muddy pool that we are in. Oh no no… this is not a- “oh woe is me, please save me” kind of conversation rather, this is my only hope to get back the creativity I seemed to have given away.

This is a case of going to school way too much, of hiding behind too many installations and running away from people who “faff” for a living. Its seems like I am surrounded by people who sound like fortune cookies. We are loosing the happiness in life and forgetting the purple monkeys all over again, loves!

I wake up at 5:30 am only to scream at the top of my voice, sometimes my stuff is missing, my computer crashes, the files are wonky and I feel drunk though I am sure that the only alcohol in my system seems to be something fermented out of my lack of sleep. Cranky and saddened by dawn I pull myself out of my house only to go to the land of the human fortune cookies. Everyone sounds advice in the form of a trivial dialog, something like, “I believe your ideas are thought of but can you stop thinking from within? Think from the outside as the outside is the inside, only different.” At the same time I attend other classes where I am learning to read obtuse meanings in whatever I see, to make it easy Barthes (author of Rhetoric of the Image and the person who defines obtuse meaning in all possible ways) says, “The obtuse meaning is not everywhere, but it is somewhere,” yes, thanks, that helps!

I am often laughed at because I try so hard to stay happy. Sometimes my happiness almost seems like I am mocking the situation I am in. But honestly, I am just trying to laugh away college. Its not that bad right? I can handle another year and half without turning into a prune.

People around me seem to be loosing out on their so-called personal life. How many time have I heard whispered conversations that start with, ” I don’t get time, man! I can’t handle my life let alone my relationship.” It usually ends with, “So I guess this is it, I am ending this crap.” I sit on the corner observing how the poor, design-school less boy is going to understand all of this. But all my thoughts are drowned by the silly tea-shop sisters asking me to pay up.

Life is good though, I can always quit school, paint for a living, dream of cup cakes and fairy lights, right?

Yup, not everything is lost, love! I know I have to wake up at 5:30am run to the loo, run to the gym, run back, run for a shower, run for breakfast, run to bus, run out of the bus, jog to the tea shop, run back to class, run back and forth from the class to the “kaday” to the “wet lab” to the water cooler, run to the bus, run to an auto, run for dinner, run to the desk, run to bed before its too late and run into the vicious cycle all over again. But in between all this running there are pretty moments with happy children, sulking away at school but happy none the less, hyper moments and moments of sudden realizations of love. Then there is the gossip… well a lot to live for.

Moving away from blazing blahness to happiness and la la la. I am evidentially blah and I believe the blahness speaks for it self .

The girl with a crow was a child of boredom,

In classes of random conversations,

A the day after a horror movie centered on a fat crow.

I have a life. I go for movies.

This bored and cranky piece of text is not me.

I wanted to write a story about a fish who was happy and lived in a salt lake but I got bored.

I don’t like still life.

A day of bad pani puris and the whole world is a cesspool in both senses of the word

I love cocoa… Coco

2 weeks down and still cranky

My fish is back with a vengeance.

3rd week of crankiness!

paapaa

My Sharpie pens are drying out. They weren’t that great anyway!

I love Ruby, the mannequin in my textile classroom. She had a couple of kids in the summer. They are a wonderful bunch of headless bodies.

These were notes my by best friend, over the summer. We have a life.

Today I baked a peanut butter and banana bread, just to bring everything back. It helped.

A story of epic proportions

 SO….. one bus ride gave birth to a new story… A flower child spoke and requested for a story telling session during our long bus ride to the college… An unexpected turn in our bus route bothered me and made me tell my flower children the TRUE story of our bus driver… Poor Muniswami woke up on the wrong side of the bed this fine morning. He was shaken and his body was drenched in  sweat; his dreams were intruded upon by the Lord Vishnu, who asked him to take a detour in the regular journey to Yelahanka. He was asked to take a longer route through C.M.H road. Why? Only because the love of his life would find her way into his heart if he drove through this route. Anxious and excited, Muniswami left his home in a rush, but he made sure his hair was oiled and the curls were in some way tamed. He also remembered to wear his gold chain, a prized possession that was given to him by the son of Deve Gowda. He would often tell his fellow bus drivers the long story of him saving Deve Gowda’s son by his timely help. The story was a legacy and all the drivers would beg him to repeat the tale over and over again. On this day Muniswami did not have time to think about Deve Gowda’s son as he wore the gold chain, no, today he had other things on his mind…

As he drove through the morning bustle of Koramangala, he wondered if he could drive by the silly little 6th main stop at Indiranagar. The stop that was home to a flower child, a spotted strawberry and a few other eccentric design students. Yes, maybe he should drive by and rush to C.M.H road… But his gold chain caught the suns light and distracted him from his thoughts, it reminded him that duty always had to come first…

Finally, after picking up athe silly clan of insignificant students he rushed towards C.M.H… He peered out, made glances and checked them twice… No love… No beauty… Poor Muniswami wanted to cry.. but he bit his upper-lip and decided to be a man. Suddenly he was distracted by an ambulance that was asking him to move to the side, he swirled to the side, in the bus flower children scream and cry. But then suddenly…. everything seemed to move in slow motion. Who was that beauty? Who was the Maya? Beautiful curves, jet black hair, and a shaking hip that was as hot as a Bisi cup of Coffee. A beautiful woman in a saree sporting a sexy Kamarbandh walked by. She looks over shyly at Munniswami, who is now creating a traffic jam.  She looks at him lovingly and her eyes seem to tell him that she say him in her dreams. Smitten and lost, Munniswami looses touch of reality… He is dancing around Lal Bagh with this beautiful Indian angel…

Has Muniswami found real love? Is this Bisi Beauty just a dream? Will he be able to get the pesky design students to school on time… Stay tuned to find out..

Hello purple fur

Oh green world… I used to blog alot at one point but due to certain unforseen turn of events I was unable to type out my deepest darkest fears or my daily adventures. My life is not extraordinary; it is not filled with interesting quotes or exotic acquaintances. My life revolves around a Design school, a small tea shop owned by an old man and his two galling daughters. It is spirited up by two sets of incredibly fetching souls (one pair lives in a city of gold), a knight in shining armour, a graceful family, a pirate (self proclaimed best friend), a girl who sees everything through rose tinted glasses, an “Indian Angel” (assigned to be “The enchantress,” a regular beaut), and then come flower children: those  who sing and dance in the big white and blue bus.  I live a life held together with paint, sunflowers, samosas, mango chutney, paper, sand, watermelon, lentils, bread, chocolate, milk, cereal, samosas and papadi chaat.

Today was a day spent on discussing our lost childhood. The flower children are growing old and the picture frames and rusting and the pictures are fading away. Cartoons that enchanted us are now lost in the world of anime and reality shows. Whatever happened to captain planet? Has Cartoon Network realised that the idea that we can save the world from global warming is a big lie that was created by the brown paper bag companies!! The shame! I miss coming home from school all tired from math and science, tests and teachers…. Walking in to eat a whole plate of noodles and gobi manchurian without the guilt that oozes out of the oil. All while watching the “Swat Kats” save the world from destruction. Sigh! Its a horrid, horrid thought, not being able to go back to those days. To grow old is a horrible curse, you tend to be crabby, mean and ridiculously mature. You start to think about your actions, you question the actions of others, you turn to a mouth full of bittergourd and your face constantly looks like your chewing on gooseberries on a sultry summer day. I no longer think its “right” to sit on the floor and devour honey straight out of the bottle with a spoon created out of your very own hand. I found myself wanting to a few days back, but then I from the corner of my eye I saw a shadow that stretched deep into the kitchen, threatening me.

Gone are those days where everything amused me, yet I am find myself fasinated by bubbles. Fantasies are lost in this dying world where Cartoon Network has lost hope in Captain Planet and the planeteers. I honestly believe everyone lost hope in Ma-Ti, the guy who’s only power was to talk to animals. The poor guy was a misunderstood preteen. He was small, insignificant and had a power that no ten year old thought was even mildly exhilarating when compared to the for other powers. He even out of sync in the title song but now come to think about it he would have grown up to be a tall, dark and quite an exotic man with an accent. He would even be sensitive and charming, while wheeler, the fire guy who came from Brooklyn would have got sick of hitting on Linka and with the Cartoon Network’s lack of avowal for ther hope of a green world, he would have moved back to his little appartment and used his powers to make smores and reheat old pizza. He would most probably turn into a fat man who uses those sticks with claws to scratch his back and or other parts of his body while watching scenes with Linka in it, over and over again. See what age does to you?

A friend of mine just reminded me of Johnny Quest. I loved Hadji and he loved Rachel. Hadji was the apotheosis of a good Indian boy. He even had the turban with a ruby and a nehru jacket to prove it. Oh the glorious world of Johnny Quest. I miss all of those tales of mystery due to a lack of an adventerous life.

This blog is meant for flower children and purple monkeys; its for those who fear the lack of innocence and the loss of life in the name of maturity. You are alive so go eat honey out of the jar with your hand, its meant to be eaten that way!